Trust your instincts
(from New Orleans, on Fox News)
SHEPARD SMITH: You’re live on FOX News Channel, what are you doing?
MAN: Walking my dogs.
SMITH: Why are you still here? I’m just curious.
MAN: None of your fucking business.
SMITH: Oh that was a good answer, wasn’t it? That was live on international television. Thanks so much for that. You know we apologize.
………………………..
IA professor in the field of Criminal Justice asked my class “You’re walking outside at 2 in the morning. (or it might have been ‘in a bad neighborhood’ or some suggestion of suspicion with you.) The police pull over and ask you what you’re doing. What are you obligated to do, and what should you do?” The answer, as he gave it, “Tell the police to bug off. You owe them nothing.”
As a statement of principle, it is correct. In reality, you really can’t do it… and it’s not particularly worth whatever point you’re making to tell a police officer to get away from you.
A conversation I once had with a stranger:
Him: You’re driving along, and see the police turn their lights on. It doesn’t matter that you’ve done nothing wrong, you still get nervous. That’s programming.
Me: Well, it’s … you see… you just don’t know what little item from the past, long forgotten, may be back on their record.
Him: That’s right! That’s right!
Actually that’s not quite it. I’m nervous if a police officer approaches me anywhere because of the nature of policing: literally nothing good can from this transaction. Generally speaking, what comes out a police officer approaching me is innocuous — perhaps a quick exchange of pleasantries — but if anything happens, it’ll be a bit of a bummer. Thus, there’s the source of my nervousness. (Things are turned around when I’m in a situation where I seek the police officer, mind you. I’m not an anarchist.)
I was sitting at a park bench at about 7:30 in the morning with a loaf of bread, peanut butter, and yogurt, purhcased from the grocery store that morning. Fred Meyers had in their coupon section bread for 25 cents a loaf and peanut butter for $1 (yogurt is typically on sale for either 40 cents or 50 cents). I was whipping through a batch of peanut butter sandwiches, and throwing pieces of bread at pigeons. I notice a police car coming by and stopping. I’m vaguely nervous, and considered for a second leaving for a different bench before deciding toward a “deprograming that itch” resolve.
The police officer (who had an assistant with him that I can easily imagine was “in training”) and I exchanged pleasantries, before he pointed me to the beer can — in a paper bag– and asked why I was drinking it in public. This was the first time I was aware that I was sitting next to an empty beer can.
I told him that it wasn’t mine. He gave me an incredulous look, and asked why it was there then. I answered that I see beer and soda cans all the time in public spaces, garbage left by other people. He shook the head, and gave a bizarre answer of “I don’t.”, a statement that defies me. He swooped up and spilled the drops of beer that remained in the can out onto the grass.
“Why is it still cold if it’s not yours?” I could think of no answer that he would believe, since he already decided to believe I was lying. But the answer to that question is one of two things: (1) whoever was drinking from it was here very recently (2) It’s been cold outside since last night, and won’t be warm for another couple of hours. Welcome to Autumn.
“We can play games all you’d like…” I’m thinking that this expression should be banned out of existance.
He asks for my i.d., and had his assistant write down my name — I suppose for future reference in case I ever sit in a park next to an empty beer can. I ask “Can I get a breathilizer test?”, to which the police officer gives a stern response of “No.” (Does peanut butter squelch alcohol?) I’m resentful of his presumption of guilt, and don’t even want the trifle of punishment that I’m being doled out… I once had a roommate who for a couple weeks thought I was Mormon because of my lack of drinking. (and other indulgences, actually.) He was a blockhead, but there you go.
Two things pop in my mind: if I’m ever at jury duty again, I’m mentally popping up the 50.1% preponderance of guilt rule to 60%. And… there oughta be a law that a person accused of alcohol-related anything can ask for a breathilizer test.
“Now, I should exclude you from this place, but I’ll just ask you to move to another location.”
Pleasant dichotemy I’m being given. How lucky of me. For the crime of sitting next to an empty beer can, I’ve been given amnesty from being banned from the area.
It was minor to say the least, but it left me in a bad mood. I don’t know what this is instructive of.